


all my loving

by himbosamevans



Category: Glee
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Kurt, M/M, Porn with Feelings, by the way, its... its porn, set in the summer between s3/s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24138148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himbosamevans/pseuds/himbosamevans
Summary: “I love you so much,” Blaine repeats, breathless, and Kurt leans in to kiss him again, knowing Blaine can feel theI love you, too, in it, and so many more unsaid things:I’m so lucky to have you. My life is so much better with you in it. I’m going to miss you.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	all my loving

**Author's Note:**

> i totally forgot whilst i wrote this, but suspend your disbelief and imagine that kurt doesnt find out about nyada at the end of s3, but rather at the end of the summer or something. then this will make sense lmao

They dance on the lawn, barefoot, to one of Blaine’s Beatles records. The grass tickles Kurt’s feet, and Blaine rocks him back and forth jauntily as Paul McCartney croons ‘All My Loving’ from the vinyl player. Kurt laughs, throwing his head back as Blaine wiggles his head back and forth, singing along to the song, and he feels silently grateful Blaine had insisted on lugging his portable record player over that day. Blaine pauses, pulling away for the guitar solo, pretending to strum an invisible acoustic in the air and spinning on one foot whilst Kurt snorts, taking the opportunity to card his hands through his own hair, flat from where they’d been lying on the ground. Blaine stills on the toes of his right foot, raising one eyebrow to Kurt and pulling him back in for another dance, raising his arm to spin Kurt, who follows the silent instruction obediently, turning in two short steps until his chest is pressed to Blaine’s.

Blaine’s hands pull from Kurt’s, wrapping his arms around Kurt’s waist instead, still swaying, and pulling him close; he’s still singing along, his voice low and even in Kurt’s ear. Kurt only knows the chorus, but he hums along when the record reaches it, leaning back in Blaine’s arms to see his face. Blaine’s hair is de-gelled, let loose for a day of sunbathing, and his eyes are low and warm, fixed on Kurt’s mouth, his nose, his eyes, his cheekbones. Kurt feels so much love for Blaine in that moment he could feels he could possibly die. The corners of Blaine’s lips are still quirked up on the final notes of the song, and then he stills, watching Kurt as the vinyl crackles inbetween songs.

“My baby…” Blaine whispers, and it wouldn’t have been audible if the world wasn’t silent around them, hanging in the air. Kurt’s heart swells, feels too big to fit, be contained in his body; he loves when Blaine calls him baby, though rarely; knows that he only saves the pet name for secret, intimate moments, such as this.

The next track starts up, but if you had asked Kurt, there was nothing playing. The light reflects on Blaine’s eyes, the low, orange sun casting shadows on his cheeks through his eyelashes.

“I love you,” Kurt murmurs, moving his arm from around Blaine’s shoulders to hold his cheek, feather-light. Blaine nuzzles into the touch, closing his eyes, and Kurt can feel Blaine’s eyelashes brush against the tip of his thumb as he does so. Blaine presses a gentle, reverent kiss to Kurt’s palm.

“I love you, too,” he whispers into the heel of Kurt’s palm, and Kurt runs his hand down his cheek to hold his chin. He lifts his head and leans in for a gentle, chaste kiss, lingering when Blaine opens his lips and pushes back softly. They kiss languidly for a minute, Kurt moving his hand from Blaine’s chin, back around his neck, tangling his fingers in the dark curls that lie at the nape. Blaine’s hands travel from the small of Kurt’s back to the belt loops at the front of his jeans, pulling him in impossibly closer; but at that moment Kurt feels as though he could crawl inside Blaine’s skin and it wouldn’t be close enough. Blaine nips at Kurt’s bottom lip, and Kurt parts his lips further, microscopically. Blaine’s tongue darts out, touching the very tip of Kurt’s briefly, before retreating, but Blaine’s sweet taste, notes of remnant orange juice and pineapple rings from earlier, storm Kurt’s senses regardless, and he whimpers, pressing his face desperately closer to Blaine’s. He feels like all of him is being flooded with Blaine; everything else muted and drowned out in the crashing waves of _Blaine_.

He can feel, vaguely, his feet stumbling forward on the dewy grass, his toes rubbing against the dirt as Blaine tugs him backwards, back towards the blanket they’d set out earlier. Kurt had insisted on strategically placed throw pillows as well, despite Blaine’s amused urging that there was no need, and he feels a small sense of smugness as they fall to their knees, lips and teeth clashing in a desperate need to stay connected, and Blaine shuffles backwards, lying down so his head rests on the cushion.

Kurt wastes no time in straddling Blaine’s hips, pulling at the neck of his already unbuttoned navy polo (when did that happen?) to gain more access. Blaine lets out a soft groan, putting his hand on the small of Kurt’s back, dipping his fingers into the waistband there, and raising his hips where Kurt is sitting on them.

Kurt runs his hands down from where the polo is taut across Blaine’s chest to where it sits looser, hangs off of his trim waist. The pads of his fingers slip underneath, resting his palms just gently, reverently, on the skin there — warm under his hands, soft yet firm in the middle, a light dusting of hair trailing from his belly to the button of his jean shorts. He runs his hands down to cup the sides of Blaine’s hips, his wrists pushing up the fabric a little and revealing a thin strip of tan skin. He rubs his thumbs in slow circles, his eyes trailing back up to meet Blaine’s; Blaine, who is lying there, grinning somewhat sheepishly but kind of dopily too, his pupils blown and fixed on Kurt.

“I love you so much,” Blaine repeats, breathless, and Kurt leans in to kiss him again, knowing Blaine can feel the _I love you, too_ , in it, and so many more unsaid things: _I’m so lucky to have you. My life is so much better with you in it. I’m going to miss you_.

Blaine’s fingers rub over the base of Kurt’s spine once more before traveling upwards, his palms spreading against the smooth skin of Kurt’s back, running up, over his shoulder blades, rucking the shirt up as he does so, exposing Kurt’s lower back to the warm summer evening air.

He hums against Kurt’s lips, pulling his hand away to tug at the bottom of Kurt’s henley shirt, “Off,” he murmurs, ducking his head to focus on unbuttoning the vest layered on top of it.

Kurt bats his hands away gently, sitting up a little straighter to unbutton it himself. Blaine removes his hands compliantly, instead opting to rub up and down Kurt’s thighs; but then the vest is unbuttoned, and when Kurt shrugs it off his shoulders, Blaine’s hands return to the fringe of his shirt, tugging it upwards impatiently.

“Eager beaver much?” Kurt mutters, and Blaine wrinkles his freckled nose at the name, shaking his head grimly when Kurt laughs at his distaste.

“I think that _eager beaver_ is the least sexy thing you could’ve said just now,” Blaine laments, rolling his head to the side on the pillow and watching Kurt from the corner of his eyes, as if to emphasise the point.

“ _Please_ ,” Kurt is finally free of his cotton shackle, “don’t act like you don’t think everything I do is sexy.”

Blaine raises his eyebrows at the sudden reveal of Kurt’s chest, grinning. “Yeah, I do,” he moves forward, suddenly, then, rolling Kurt onto his back and tucking himself between his legs, leaning forward to litter kisses along Kurt’s décolletage and collarbone. He pauses, looking up when Kurt’s arm shoots out to the side, grabbing around for a pillow, and he leans forward on his elbow to grab one of the pink, tasseled cushions to put behind Kurt’s head. He hesitates for a second, and then grabs a second to put underneath Kurt’s elevated hips with a wink.

Kurt opens his mouth to protest the fact that he is _not_ going to have blatant sex with Blaine in his backyard, but then he considers it: Finn is on vacation with Rachel and her dads, and his dad and Carole are on a date night and won’t be back for a few hours at least. He finds himself shutting his mouth.

Blaine must have sensed his hesitation anyway, because he pauses where he’s hovering over Kurt’s neck and asks, breathy against the skin, “You wanna go inside?”

“Mmm,” Kurt brings his hand to Blaine’s jaw, feeling the bone and light stubble there, and pulling him up for another kiss, “I’m fine where I am.”

Blaine grins against his lips at that, his hot palms still skating up and down Kurt’s chest. He presses another kiss when his hands catch on Kurt’s nipple, flicking the pad of his thumb over it. Kurt whines high in his throat, breaking the kiss and rubbing his cheek along Blaine’s temple. Blaine kisses along his cheek, then his jaw, his fingers dancing up and down Kurt’s side.

“You,” Kurt is breathless, “are wearing too many clothes.”

“Likewise,” Blaine shifts upwards to look at his boyfriend, raising an eyebrow. “But I guess that’s all the time for you?”

Kurt chooses to ignore the comment in favour of dragging his fingers to the bottom of Blaine’s Lacoste shirt; he plays with the hem, dipping his fingers into the slit of the side vents, before tugging it up and over Blaine’s head. He throws the polo to the side; it lands just off the blanket, on the grass, and Kurt cuts off Blaine’s noise of indignation with a kiss, splaying his hands over Blaine’s sunburned shoulders.

Though, to be fair, he’s tanned excellently otherwise; after a languorous summer of nothing but aprication in the garden with Kurt, Blaine has affected this amazing, glowy tan. Kurt would be jealous if it wasn’t so damn sexy. And, besides, it’s been nice to just do _nothing,_ and Kurt insists on enjoying it while it lasts, before it’s just a memory, locked in the canicular days of that summer. No more stressing about how his NYADA audition went, or the down payment for an apartment that Rachel has been _hounding_ him for, or how long distance is going to work with someone as tactile as—

Blaine has begun kissing down Kurt’s chest: long, reverential kisses, pausing on his abdomen and dipping his tongue into the navel there, making Kurt squirm. He keeps peeking up through his eyelashes at Kurt, trying to gage his reaction as he nips lovebites across Kurt’s hips. Kurt doesn’t know why; Blaine already knows all of the best spots; the tender spots, that make Kurt keen and gasp when he nibbles at them.

Blaine dips his finger, runs it along the inside loop of Kurt’s jeans: asking silently for permission to remove them. Kurt nods wordlessly, bringing one pale arm up to rest over his eyes, his nose in the crook of his elbow.

Blaine makes quick work of the button and zip of Kurt’s jeans, tugging them down in motion with Kurt rising his hips, peeling off the tight denim to reveal Kurt: all long legs and pale flesh. Kurt kicks off the jeans tangled around his ankles, pushing them away with a foot, and Blaine settles inbetween his legs again, kneading and biting at the soft skin of Kurt’s thighs. He moves his head, nosing at where Kurt’s boxer briefs have ruched at the junction of his thigh, before mouthing gently over the outline of Kurt’s dick.

“God, don’t tease,” Kurt grits out, moving his arm to peer down at Blaine, who meets his gaze; eyes wide, hazel and lust-blown.

He half expects Blaine to argue, or, worse, continue, just to push at Kurt’s buttons, but he lifts his head, baptising his fingers (finally) below the elastic of Kurt’s underwear, the backs of his fingers briefly touching the hair there before he pulls the boxers down and off. The summer air rushes over Kurt, almost cool in contrast to where his skin is burning hot. Kurt still thinks that Blaine is wearing too many clothes, but he’s not about to ask Blaine to move now.

Blaine grips the base of Kurt’s cock with one hand, glancing up at Kurt one last time before shutting his eyes, sticking his tongue out to lick from base to tip, the tip of his tongue trailing along a vein there, on the underside. Kurt’s head falls back against the pillow with a soft thunk, letting out a gasp, his chest decompressing.

Blaine is still letting his tongue explore, like he hasn’t done this countless times before, running up the side of the shaft and swirling his tongue round at the tip, pressing a little kiss there, before taking it into his mouth, sucking gently and wiggling his tongue under the head. He dips his head down wetly, stopping about midway, his forefinger and thumb still gripping the base gently. He flattens his tongue against the shaft, licking slowly as he pulls his head back up, his mouth still enclosed on Kurt’s cock. Kurt allows himself to peer down at him, again, watch as Blaine’s mouth works hotly over his dick, eyelashes long and dark where they’ve fluttered closed against his cheek.

Blaine hollows his cheeks, sucking and moving his head down, eliciting a muffled choking noise from himself when Kurt’s dick bumps the back of his throat. He swirls his tongue around the circumference of Kurt’s cock, sucking slowly and deliberately, reaching his free hand out preemptively to hold Kurt’s hip down against the blanket. Kurt lets out a low whine at the sudden suction, moving his fingers and burying them in the curls at the top of Blaine’s head, threading his fingers through and tugging gently in appreciation.

Blaine hums around the midsection of Kurt’s cock, pulling upwards and off for breath, moving his hand from the base of Kurt’s dick to stroke him deftly. Kurt keens his hips upwards, moaning quietly over the record that’s still playing across the garden.

Blaine presses a hasty kiss to Kurt’s hip, turning his head and kissing the side of Kurt’s cock sloppily before sinking his mouth back down, swallowing the salty-bitter taste spread across by his hand, sucking quickly at the head before pushing down, until his lips meet the base and he buries his nose in the hair there, choking a little.

“ _Fuck_ , Blaine,” Kurt gasps, moving his hand from Blaine’s hair and curling his fingers in the gingham of the blanket, “make me feel so good.”

Blaine pulls off then, coughing slightly, working his hand over the shaft — his eyes are red at the rim and pooling slightly. If Kurt sat up a little more, he could see where Blaine’s legs are spread apart on the blanket, his hips rising and falling, grinding on the cover; but Kurt doesn’t have to look, knows from experience how Blaine gets off to it. He pets again at Blaine’s curls, wraps a stray lock around his finger, savours the soft, gel-free feeling; it’s rare Blaine doesn’t style his hair in some way. He wants to memorise the feel of them, uncast in gel, in case it’s the last time he sees them that way for a while.

He’s shy about it, but Kurt knows that Blaine gets insecure about his natural hair, the way it looks without gel (as Santana generously puts it, ‘Jacob Ben Israel on a good day’) and Kurt can’t help but feel a little smug in the fact he’s the only one Blaine will skip the gel for, feel comfortable enough around to just let his hair _be_.

He’s roused from his thoughts, though, by Blaine taking him to his hilt again, and he lets out a garbled moan, detangling his fingers from Blaine’s hair to squeeze at his neck. Blaine swallows, the head of Kurt’s dick right at the pinnacle of his throat, and Kurt gasps at the feeling, the hotness and wetness of Blaine’s mouth making his stomach roil and tighten. Blaine pulls off again, moving his hand to jack Kurt off, but Kurt paws at his arm, pulling him back upwards instead.

“Fuck, too close,” he whispers, and he doesn’t miss the self-satisfied smile playing on Blaine’s lips before he kisses him again. He slips his hand between them and shoves it down the front of Blaine’s shorts, popping the button open when he does, and wrapping his fingers around Blaine’s cock just to take the edge off for him.

Blaine groans into Kurt’s mouth, and sits up on his knees to unbutton his shorts hurriedly, tugging them and his boxers down in one swift movement and rolling onto his back, wiggling to get them off.

“As sexy as that manoeuvre just was,” Kurt tries to sound as dry as possible, but the effect is lost because his breath is hitched when he drags his hand along his length once — it’s still wet and slick against his palm, and it’s somehow hotter knowing Blaine’s mouth did that — “I need to run inside and grab the bottle of lube.” As hot as Blaine’s mouth may be, nothing is entering his body doused in spit alone.

“Already taken care of.” Blaine wiggles his eyebrows and hops up onto one foot, making a quick dash across the garden for his Jansport. Kurt leans back on his elbows, enjoying the view, and he quirks an eyebrow when Blaine produces something from the front pocket of his backpack with a little ‘Ta-dah!’

“Wow. Amazing foresight,” Kurt’s tone is sufficiently wry this time, and he eyes the little travel bottle of lube and condom Blaine is gripping in his hand as he jogs back towards the blanket.

“I was a boy scout, once, you know,” Blaine boasts, already back at the throw and kneeling next to Kurt, squeezing liquid from the bottle onto his fingers, “ _It always pays to be prepared_. That’s what they’d teach us.”

“Not sure if they anticipated that motto to be used in situations like these,” Kurt mutters, but then Blaine is lifting his thigh with one calloused hand, a slicked finger from the free hand circling his rim slowly. “What’s with the, ah,” Blaine slowly pushes the tip of his finger in, “what’s with the condom?”

They’d abandoned condoms sometime around Blaine’s junior year; they were kind of expensive, and they were two monogamous virgins incapable of pregnancy, so they became pretty obsolete.

“Oh,” Blaine glances down at where it’s waiting next to them on the blanket, and he smiles sheepishly, “I found it in my desk drawer,” he’s sunk his finger in to the knuckle at this point, and he pauses to gage Kurt’s reaction, “and the last time we got come on your comforter I thought you were going to have an aneurysm, so.”

Kurt nods breathlessly, ignoring Blaine’s attempt at humour, his head tipped back and his mouth open. Blaine leans forward to press sloppy kisses along his bared neck, and Kurt’s eyes flutter shut. He closes his mouth, swallows thickly, parts his lips again unwittingly.

“Ready for another?” Blaine’s voice has dropped now, hot next to Kurt’s ear; it drives Kurt insane how he can go from bashful and chatty to low and sexy in a second, and Kurt nods, humming a confirmation. “God, you look so fucking sexy like this, Kurt. Always do.”

He pushes another finger in slowly, continuing to press kisses to the side of Kurt’s neck. He licks upwards, following the pulse point to his ear and nipping at his lobe, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of his ear.

“Hurry _up_ ,” Kurt whines, squirming on the blanket, trying to push down on Blaine’s fingers and rucking it up underneath the pillow around his hips.

Blaine tuts quietly, peppering kisses along Kurt’s smooth cheek now; “you’re so impatient,” his voice is sweet despite the chastising, and he nuzzles his nose into Kurt’s hair, smelling his shampoo. (Lavender. But Blaine knew that.)

“Or you’re just overly cautious,” Kurt opens his eyes and turns his head to meet Blaine’s lips, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and nibbling it softly.

His mouth goes slack, though, and he lets out a quiet, content sigh when Blaine starts scissoring his fingers, twisting them in and out of Kurt slowly. As much as he does, _truly_ , want Blaine to get on with it, he also appreciates the time and care Blaine puts into fingering him — the electricity that sparks through him as Blaine opens him up, gradually, deliberately.

He doesn’t usually bottom. It’s not that they have some set rota — every sexual encounter between them, aside from the first time, has been largely amorphous — it’s just how things have usually ended up between them. Before he’d met Blaine, part of him had wondered ‘which’ he’d be. He hadn’t ventured too much into research on the internet, but he’d known basics, and during late nights with his hand and mental images of Taylor Lautner, Sam, even Finn (which makes him shudder at the memory), he supposes he’d always been on the bottom. But with Blaine, it was more nuanced; then again, Blaine gave everything in his life more nuance.

He wonders, briefly, if he doesn’t usually bottom for a fear of being too wanton, too open, even in front of Blaine. He’s always been a private person, and he prefers to hold off outbursts of emotion if he can: only lets himself cry in front of his dad, Blaine — Rachel or Mercedes, maybe. And there’s a similarity of this privateness in sex — the act of Blaine literally opening him up, making what is private unprivate.

Blaine pulls his fingers out, squirts a little more lube on, rubbing it across his fingers with the pad of his thumb, before re-entering with three, this time. The stretch of the third finger burns a little, and Kurt groans lowly, gritting his teeth. Blaine pauses halfway in, studying Kurt’s face silently for distress. Kurt takes a deep breath, opens his eyes again to meet Blaine’s; Blaine, so gentle, his expression full of love and care. He smiles a little despite himself, adjusts the positioning of his hips, and nods. Blaine swallows before continuing, twisting his fingers slowly as they enter, his free hand rubbing encouraging circles on Kurt’s bony hip.

“Mm, it’s been a while, huh?” Kurt chatters, the burn subsiding and being replaced once more with the aching, ingrained pleasure Blaine creates with only his fingers, “just feel so full, and, God, it’s only your fingers, can’t imagine what it’ll be like when it’s your —“

Blaine cuts him off, surging forward and kissing him, deeply. The kiss is still meaningful, it always is between them, but it’s searing hot when they meet, blistering and broiling when Blaine pushes forward still, using a little more tongue than necessary. Groaning, Blaine’s tongue dances along the very edge of Kurt’s teeth, glides smooth over his cheek, tastes every bit of him, before pulling off slowly, kissing the corner of his mouth again. When he leans back, his fingers adjust inside of Kurt and make him whine softly.

“God, sorry you just — you can’t say stuff like that without warning, Kurt,” Blaine’s pupils are impossibly more blown than they were before, and his lips are swollen and pink. Kurt knits his eyebrows together, and Blaine clarifies; “you’re too _hot_. I actually want to get inside you, first.”

Blaine’s being hyperbolic, and Kurt knows this, but the notion that he could make Blaine come from words alone makes his dick twitch against his stomach, his stomach tighten and dance with butterflies.

“I’m ready, I promise, c’mere,” Kurt shifts where he’s sitting up on his elbows, uses one hand to make a grabby fist at Blaine. “I’m ready.”

Blaine looks a little unsure, and Kurt nods again in confirmation, desperately. He pulls his fingers out, wipes them on his jean shorts lying nearby (Kurt makes a mental note to chastise him about proper fabric care later) and leans over to grab the condom from where it’s stirred further up the blanket, floated away on waves of fabric from Kurt’s squirming. He shuffles forward, so that he’s kneeling between Kurt’s open legs, and rips the top of the packet off with his teeth, spitting the frayed, plastic edge out onto the blanket.

“You’re really ready?”

Kurt resists the temptation to roll his eyes, just nods again, reaching for the lube as Blaine rolls the condom on. He squirts a little on his fingers, rubs it up and down Blaine’s shaft, the sound of Blaine’s half-hearted whines at the coldness and the squelch of the lube on the latex filling the air. Across the garden, The Beatles have reached their final song and the record has acquiesced, turning silently.

Blaine leans forward, one hand on the blanket behind Kurt’s shoulder, and the other grips the base of his cock between two fingers and his thumb.

Kurt lifts his free hand, pushes two stray curls off of Blaine’s warm forehead delicately where he hovers over him, his skin hot to the touch. Blaine’s eyes flicker up from Kurt’s entrance to meet his, and he smiles softly, warmly, leans in to press another kiss to the corner of Kurt’s mouth.

The chasteness of the kiss contrasts wildly with the act they’re partaking in; the head of Blaine’s dick pushes gently at Kurt’s rim, nudging in and then the three fingers seem like _nothing_ , because Kurt is so full from just the head.

He gasps, his head falling back against the pillow from where he’d been leaning up a little, and he flits his eyes closed, focuses on his breathing as Blaine pauses, then slowly begins to push in, filling him up inch by inch. Kurt knows, logically, that Blaine is just around average, but he feels impossibly big as he enters him, overwhelmingly so.

“You okay?” The concern in Blaine’s voice makes Kurt force his eyes open. Blaine is a little sweaty already, his cheekbones shiny from exertion, and a little smug, niggling part of Kurt’s brain knows it’s from Blaine restraining himself for Kurt’s comfort, and he feels especially precious, especially held in that moment. “Kurt?” Blaine’s voice asks again, and then it’s his turn to push Kurt’s bangs off of his face, where his careful styling has waned in the sun and the effort.

“I’m fine,” Kurt’s voice is breathier than usual, and he does appreciate Blaine’s opted stillness, because the bite of the stretch is still present and it’s taking a little more getting used to. “You — just two more seconds, then you can move.” He’s only halfway inserted, but the stretch is still overwhelming, especially since it truly _has_ been a while since Kurt was on the bottom. It abates slowly, and Kurt writhes, brings his hand up to cup Blaine’s scapula and push him forward a little. Blaine bites his bottom lip and pushes forward costively, eventually bottoming out, his hips flush with Kurt’s skin; he lets out a slow breath, like he’d been holding it, and when he leans forward to kiss Kurt again, the angle changes for both of them and they both moan softly.

If Kurt felt overwhelmed by Blaine before, he doesn’t know what he’s feeling now; it’s not just the pleasure that inundates him, although, as the stinging and the tautness ebb, it gives way to the ache and the pressure on his nerve endings, deep — _bone-deep_ — pleasure, from every angle. He feels brimming, replete with Blaine, connected in a way that kisses and words wouldn’t suffice, and, though he knows they couldn’t possibly be more intimate, he feels a desperate need to convey his passion to his boyfriend, to pull him closer, closer and just hold him there. He holds out his arms, loops them under Blaine’s armpits to tug him nearer, so that their chests are flushed, Blaine leaning on his elbows, his face tucked in the crook of Kurt’s neck as he slowly grinds his hips, still taken to the hilt.

His thoughts keep sneaking up on him, and as he presses his cheek to Blaine’s hair, he realises his eyes are wet with tears. He sniffs a little, tries to focus on the moment, but all he can think of is what’s going to happen when it’s over.

“I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers, barely a noise. He knows nothing is concrete, yet, he hasn’t heard the outcome of his NYADA audition, and he and Rachel still need to find an apartment, book the flights — but he’s terrified, all the same. It’s the first time he’s expressed any of it to Blaine since the moment in Miss Pillsbury’s office; they’ve shared sullen looks when Rachel has mentioned a new apartment listing she found online, caught Blaine’s eye in an unspoken moment of looming when a back-to-school ad came on the TV, but never aloud.

Blaine tilts his head, speaks directly into the shell of Kurt’s ear, his voice just as low, and soft. “Don’t be silly,” the way he says it is not unkind, or dismissive, and he pauses to kiss the lobe of Kurt’s ear, “let’s not talk about it now, hm? Just enjoy yourself, for me. I wanna make you feel good.” His tone is open-ended despite his words, and Kurt knows he could push him off, and Blaine would willingly have them sit and talk about it seriously, now, cast in the garden of sunken gold hues, but he doesn’t want to. He knows the truth in Blaine’s words — that they should just enjoy themselves.

He nods, still a little shaky, and Blaine kisses along and behind his ear, small touches and nuzzles to his hair and cheek as he begins to thrust shallowly, barely pulling out — it’s more grinding than anything, still cautious to Kurt’s adjustment, but it’s the best thing at the moment. Kurt doesn’t want him to pull too far out just yet — he can do that in a minute — right now he just wants to lie, absorb all of Blaine that he can.

His breath hitches as Blaine pulls his hips a little further out, the drag of his cock on Kurt’s rim bringing him back to where he is, what he’s doing. He’s still going slow, but his dick is entering a little more easily each time, and Kurt arches his back, moaning softly at the sinuous turn of Blaine’s hips with each thrust.

“You,” Kurt’s breath stutters when he speaks, and he moves, pushing down on Blaine’s dick as he enters, “you can go a little faster, now.”

Blaine nods against his neck, presses a final sloppy kiss there before he pushes himself up a little further on his arms, moves from his elbows to his hands so that he can see Kurt, watch his face, reposition his hips. Kurt’s hands slip from where they’d been resting, just tenderly, on the sharp points of Blaine’s shoulder blades, and he pulls his arms up, above his head, rests them on the gingham blanket just beside him.

Blaine shifts again, sits up a little more on his knees, bringing one hand down to grab at Kurt’s ass, the juncture where it adjoins the meat of his legs. “God, Kurt,” he groans, and it’s so quiet it could mostly be to himself, “you’re so fucking _tight_.”

Kurt whines, partially at Blaine’s words and partially because of the new angle, the new pace, the way it makes him buzz and fizzle where he’s most tender. He wants this to be romantic, but he also wants to feel it, remember it in the shower the next morning when Blaine is driving back to his house. Blaine is sitting mostly upright, now, and Kurt lets his eyes wander over his body; his face, eyes down, watching where he enters and re-enters Kurt roughly, his neck, and his collarbone, glossy in the low light with sweat — his tanned arms, one gripping the back of Kurt’s upper thigh, holding him open, the other resting on Kurt’s ribcage, just below and to the side of his heart, his touch near diaphanous in contrast to the hard grip on Kurt’s leg.

Blaine is thrusting quicker now, the drive of his hips conveying less of the emotion at the start and more of the primality of it, love being poured into every roll, of course, but also, even if it feels silly to Kurt to think it, the utter _sex_ of the moment. He can feel it in every ounce of him, the pleasure, the wholeness of Blaine, in that consuming way that abates shortly after finish; he relishes in it while it lasts, though, moans softly in approval as Blaine’s cock drags, slippery, inside of him and out again.

Kurt pushes his hands back on the blanket, wiggles so he can wrap his legs around Blaine’s waist, causing him to lean forward again. He tugs him in with the heel of his foot right at the small of Blaine’s back, his body lighting up at the new positioning, the new way Blaine’s dick drives into him, heat and bliss right down to his marrow, and he gasps, his stomach contracting again.

“God, Blaine — right _there_ ,”

Blaine’s hips stutter — they don’t have to communicate to know the other is close, and he brings one hand down to stroke Kurt’s cock, roughly aligned with his thrusts. Kurt squirms; any worries about sounding wanton dashed, gasping loudly in tune with Blaine’s low whimpers and growls of pleasure and exertion.

“Kurt — I’m,” Blaine pants, and Kurt opens his eyes again briefly to meet Blaine’s before he surges up for a firm kiss; Blaine’s grip on his cock tightens, sends him over the edge just before his lover. He spurts across his stomach, lets himself relax in every limb, feel all of the white-hot pleasure of it.

It’s only a few seconds, and when he comes back to himself Blaine is groaning softly at his jaw, where their lips disconnected in the ecstasy of it all. Now that the novelty of the sex has ebbed, it’s a little uncomfortable where Blaine rolls his hips in the final throes of his orgasm, but Kurt cherishes it anyway, the closeness and intimacy of the final moment.

Blaine’s hips still, finally, and he presses another, closed mouth kiss to Kurt’s lips before pulling out slowly, pulling the condom off by the tip and tying it.

Blaine sinks back on his knees, throws the condom to the edge of the blanket, next to the abandoned wrapper, to be disposed of on their way back in. He runs his hands through his curls, dampened at the root from sweat and finer now with the humidity — he’s still glossy across his collarbone, and he swallows as he catches his breath, grinning blithely at Kurt. He grabs his polo from where it had landed just on the grass earlier, which he’d complained about, and wipes at Kurt’s stomach softly, and just between his legs. Kurt bites back a comment about Blaine changing his mind on the importance of the cleanliness of his shirt, because the act is so caring it makes his heart hurt.

“Mmm, c’mere,” Kurt says, barely above a whisper, his voice thick with sudden exhaustion.

Blaine leans forward, grabs the final pillow from across the blanket, and places it next to the one under Kurt’s head, crawling up to curl into his side.

“I don’t suppose I need to tell you that was amazing?” Blaine murmurs, presses a sweet kiss to Kurt’s temple, where it’s damp with sweat — if it tastes salty, he doesn’t say anything.

“No,” Kurt sighs, turns his head to smile at him. He pulls forward, wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck and shoulders, pulls him into a hug. Their skin is still shiny, warm where it meets, but it’s not uncomfortable — the heat blossoms between them, the sweaty aftertaste of sex being just as intimate, visceral as the act itself. He tucks his head at the junction of Blaine’s neck and his shoulder, bites there softly, playfully, making Blaine jump and giggle, bat at his side gently with the tips of his fingers. “you don’t. But it was. I love you.”

Blaine brings his calf forward, hooks his leg around Kurt’s, linking their legs together at the hinges of the backs of their knees; just another one of their silent ways of communicating: _I love you, too. The summer isn’t over just yet._

**Author's Note:**

> i am SO SORRY the beatles that i used ur song for porn gfjdhfh
> 
> im actually kind of proud of this, though! it turned out so long (for a smutty oneshot) and i kind of wish it wasnt literally glee porn so that i'd feel ok showing it to anybody except you lovely strangers on the internet lol
> 
> anyways, if you liked it, kudos/comments are ALWAYS appreciated. even if u hated it! leave me some constructive criticism! :D  
> (but at the same time pls be gentle cause this is my first time writing smut lmaooo)  
> find me on tumblr: himbosamevans.tumblr.com :)


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